


if i could tell him

by sincerelyreidburke (poindextears)



Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [8]
Category: Kiersey College (Webseries), Original Work
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ben Shaley Sings Wonderwall, But in a fun way not an angsty way, Character Study, Chirping, College Hockey, College Life, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, I'm so sorry, Implied Sexual Content, In a way, Kiersey College, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Explicit Sex, Original Character(s), Sebastián "Big Boy With Big Feelings" Hernandez, Soft Boys, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, anyway, bed sharing, but not really, once again I cannot avoid a nod to Quinn as Evan Hansen, sometimes they play hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke
Summary: That’s what happened with Quinn. Once they’d met, and gotten together, Nando knew for certain that he was going to fall in love. That he was on his way to doing so. That there would come a time when he felt sure enough of the fact that love had grown that he would want to say it to him. Something told him that, during those first few weeks of their courtship. He was going to fall for this boy. And he was going to fall hard.Or: five times Nando says "I love you" without REALLY saying it, and one time Quinn says it back.
Relationships: OMC/OMC, Sebastián "Nando" Hernandez/Quinn Cooper
Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878397
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96
Collections: Kiersey College





	if i could tell him

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooh, look at that rating! I never thought my first non-[love finds you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089940/chapters/52718095) M-rated fic would be a Quindo fic, and yet here we are. The part that earns this fic its rating is part 4, headed up "iv", and it's not explicit at all but does discuss and imply pretty heavily that they're doing smutty things.  
> Also, yes, these are OCs; [here's ](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/kiersey-college) where you can learn more about them.  
> Many, many thanks to my friends who beta'd this one, especially Alannah ([im-not-shouting-im-projecting](https://im-not-shouting-im-projecting.tumblr.com/) on tumblr), who gave the whole thing a pass over and helped me immensely. Thank you also to [Joie](https://somethingnurseywoulddo.tumblr.com/), [Brenna](https://theblogrunner.tumblr.com/), and [@homeinabookshelf](https://homeinabookshelf.tumblr.com/), who all helped me figure out how this should be rated when I put it up!  
> Also, will I ever quit it with these fic titles being really cheesy Dear Evan Hansen references? Probably not.

_prelude_

Nando knows what the problem with himself is.

Well, he knows a lot of problems with himself. He’d actually probably admit to being an expert on all the problems with himself. He’s what you might call hyper-aware of each and every little flaw he has, from his appearance to his personality and everything in between. But he’s working on it— God, is he ever working on it. He thinks he’s unlearned more in the past three months than he ever thought was possible, thanks to Quinn.

But in a directly related way to that, the problem with Nando is this: he’s too much.

He knows this, has known it for awhile. He has a tendency to overwhelm, to move too quickly, to wreck things by being the overly-eager, overly-loving, overly-loud person he is. He always wants to give too much too fast, and it’s been the source of more angst in his life than he would have otherwise cared to have.

In the past, he hasn’t been mindful enough of this. With Quinn, he isn’t going to let himself make the mistakes he’s historically been prone to make. He wouldn’t change anything that’s led him to this point, because life, exactly as it’s gone, has landed him the most wonderful boy in the entire world. But he’s extremely aware of how much he wants to give Quinn, and how quickly he wants to give it.

He absolutely refuses to let himself ruin the best thing he’s ever had by being too much.

So he lets things happen at Quinn’s pace. They don’t become official until Quinn is ready to ask him, and although their first kiss is a mutual decision, he goes to great lengths to ensure everything that happens from that point forward is okay with him.

Nando falls fast, and he falls easily, and while he knows this about himself, dating Quinn brings it to more light than there’s ever been on this issue in the past. He finds himself daydreaming, too quickly, about forever. And thinking _I love you_ , long before he knows it would be okay to say it.

He wasn’t in love with Quinn from the first day they met; of course he wasn’t. Because he knows that love doesn’t work like that. Attraction at first sight certainly does exist, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d experienced that with Quinn— but love, that’s an entirely different story. And love, in its purest and truest sense, is impossible to occur as an emotion upon first meeting someone. Because Nando knows that love is something that has to grow, to be worked toward, something to be shared between two people when your bond grows strong enough for it. Love is something that comes about as a _result_ of being with someone, not the thing that comes first.

So Nando didn’t fall in love with him at first sight. Of course he _liked_ him at first sight; he’d have to be blind not to. But love at first sight, based on his definition of love, can’t exist. He knows that much.

But what he _does_ know is that it’s possible to meet someone and, almost right away, know you’re _going_ to fall in love with them. It hasn’t happened yet, because you haven’t known them long enough, or you haven’t connected with them as closely as you’d like to yet, but when you’re around them you can feel that there will come a time when you’ll be in love with them.

 _That’s_ what happened with Quinn. Once they’d met, and, a few weeks later, gotten together, Nando knew for certain that he was going to fall in love. That he was on his way to doing so. That there would come a time when he felt sure enough of the fact that love had grown that he would want to say it to him. Something told him that, during those first few weeks of their courtship back in November. He was going to fall for this boy. And he was going to fall _hard_.

Three months have passed. He’s not waiting for love anymore. Love has come, and though he knows it’s a little early to say it, it is _hard_ to hold it in sometimes.

Because _God_ , he does love him. The longer they’re together, the more he’s sure of it, the more he feels he’s bursting at the seams to say those three words to this wonderful boy.

The first time he thinks it, it’s on a FaceTime call in January, right before spring semester is set to begin. They’ve been together for two months, and he knows it might be far too early to say it out loud. But Quinn is smiling on his screen, soft and bundled up in a plain white comforter and his pajamas, and he’s talking about how he can’t wait to see him soon, and Nando knows he’s starting to love him.

But he can’t say it. He resolves that he’ll let Quinn say it first, whenever he’s ready to. Otherwise, he’s not sure he’d be able to trust himself to hold it in.

It’s hard even then.

So he learns to say it without _really_ saying it, little by little.

*

_i._

_february 24th, 2019_

The first time he says _I love you_ , it’s on a lazy Sunday morning.

He’s not sure why he wakes up before nine. On a typical weekend, he’d sleep, without interruption, as late as possible. Maybe morning hockey practice wake-up schedule is finally actually getting to him, and it’s starting to affect his biological clock. But then again, morning practice has been a thing since October, and why would he only be starting to naturally respond to it in the middle of spring semester?

No, he has no idea why he’s awake. But the sun is up, streaming its faint, wintry rays through Quinn’s dorm window. When he comes to, he’s lying on his back in Quinn’s bed, with his comforter and all his sheets wrapped around him— and the boy himself is draped halfway across his chest, fast asleep and dead to the world.

Nando watches him, in the faint light. This morning’s sun feels like a desperate, choked attempt to get the warmth through to the snowy world, and it’s failing. But for Quinn, here, in this small dorm room, for the sight of him as Nando wakes up— for him it does a justice so strong that Nando forgets how to breathe for a second.

Because Quinn looks _beautiful_ . And yeah, he always does. So this observation is nothing _new_ , exactly. It’s just that waking up next to him— something he’s been doing more and more, so much more this semester than he’s been waking in his bed in his own room— it’s just a feeling like absolutely no other. It’s a feeling he’s gotten so used to so fast. It’s a feeling he could _keep_ being used to, for a long, long time. Forever, he thinks.

Quinn is just… _God_ , he’s fucking angelic. Nando watches him, with his cheek pressed into his chest, hair all mussed from the snuggling and making out and other generally tactile business they were up to last night, and he just. He’s done this multiple times, this admiration of this boy when he’s still asleep and doesn’t know Nando is looking, but it doesn’t get old.

This morning, he’s wearing Nando’s shirt. It’s made of soft, maroon material, with the lettering on the front of it hidden from view by the way Quinn is laying on him. It’s baggy, of course, on Quinn’s little figure, and it’s riding up slightly at his waist. His legs are wound around his under the covers, and he’s in this pair of little shorts that drive Nando crazy. The shirt is so big on him that, when he’s standing upright, it falls beneath where the shorts end.

It’s not really unusual for Quinn to be wearing stolen clothes, except for the fact that when he fell asleep last night, Nando wasn’t wearing _any_ shirt at all. He hasn’t done that before, at least not in Quinn’s presence. But falling asleep without his shirt was the culmination of a much larger event and general discussion between the two of them— this gentle, sweet evening spent with him, pushing boundaries they hadn’t yet pushed up to that point.

He can still hear Quinn’s voice, the way it was last night. _I love the way you look. You’re beautiful, honey._

Nobody has ever called him beautiful before.

But Quinn did, and not just that; he eased him through this whole vulnerable process, seeing more skin on him than he’d seen yet. It’s a stupid, small thing, Nando thinks, taking your shirt off for the first time, but for him it took a _lot_ of self-hyping and convincing and reassurance. He knows it’s maybe a little silly that before last night, they’d done much more inappropriate things together, but Quinn hadn’t seen him without his shirt on until then.

Well, now— now he has. And he’s not running off. He doesn’t think he’s too big, or that he’s ugly, or that he’s too much.

Quinn thinks he’s beautiful.

Nando wraps one arm around his back, holding him under where his shirt is riding up on his waist. Quinn’s skin is all warm, and so fair; there’s a dusting of freckles across his nose, and Nando loves playing this game where he tries to see if he can kiss each one of them. He’d like to do that now, except he worries he might wake him. Quinn looks _very_ rested, and he’s breathing nice and deeply as he sleeps on him, and Nando doesn’t for a second want to disrupt that rest.

 _I love you_ , he thinks, out of nowhere, and it’s not the very first time he’s had that thought, but it means something even greater in the wake of last night. Last night, when, for the first time maybe ever, he thought it might be possible to really start liking all parts of himself. Even the parts he’s always been self-conscious of. Last night, when Quinn showed him just how much _he_ likes those parts of himself.

There’s no limitation, no catch, no fine print with Quinn. It’s just the two of them, and this sweet, sweet thing Nando has been so hooked on since the day he met him.

He is _absolutely_ in love with him, now. There’s no turning back, and he wouldn’t want to go back even if he could.

He cups his hand around the side of Quinn’s narrow waist. Everything is so warm. In his sleep, Quinn nuzzles a little, his cheek soft against Nando’s bare chest.

It occurs to Nando, all at once, that Quinn isn’t wearing his hearing aids.

Which, like, _obviously_ he isn’t. He’s asleep. Why would he need them? But this observation lets him try something, something very selfish, but something he just wants to do so he can hear himself say it out loud.

“I love you,” he whispers, and Quinn does not stir.

He knows there’s no chance he heard him, because even if, for some reason, he were faking being asleep, he’s still not listening. But for Nando, for this morning, it’s enough. He’s put it out into the air between them, when Quinn is safely asleep and tuned out, and he likes the way it sounds. He likes the way it _feels_.

It’s going to be really hard not to say it again, for now.

*

_ii._

_march 2nd, 2019_

He loves it when Quinn comes to his games.

He doesn’t always know he’s coming. Admittedly, sometimes he does. Sometimes it’s planned well in advance; they’ll be going to bed on a Monday night and Quinn will ask, _what time’s your game on Friday, honey?_ , and he’ll tell him, and then he’ll be soft all week about the fact that he’s going to come watch him play. Other times, it’s still planned, just maybe not several days out; he’ll receive a text about an hour before puck drop like, _I’ll be at the game! Good luck! <3 I’ll see you after. <3<3 _, and then he’ll look around for him until he spots him in his usual spot in the bleachers.

Sometimes, though. Sometimes Quinn shows up to surprise him. And he’d kind of be lying if he said those weren’t his favorite times.

Not that he doesn’t love when Quinn _plans_ to come and watch hockey. He just likes the idea that Quinn says nothing, deciding on his own accord that he’ll show up at his game, and then just sits his cute little ass in the stands and waits for Nando to notice. Which Nando does. Every time. Because he’s grown pretty used to hunting in that one spot near the penalty box to see if he can find his scarf-wearing, strawberry-haired dream boy.

Today’s home game has the arena _packed_ , probably because it’s the second-to-last home game in the regular season. This one is unique because it determines whether or not they qualify for playoffs, which is an absolutely nausea-inducing fact to know your performance depends on.

Well, okay. Nando has to be fair. If they don’t win today, they do get two more chances— an away game _and_ a home game, on back-to-back nights next weekend— to secure their playoff spot. But it would just really be nice to do it tonight, while they have the chance, instead of having to endure yet another nail-biting week of preparation for a game that could make or break their fate.

 _Anyway_. The point is. He really, really hopes they win this game.

And everyone is bringing their A-game, too; they did captain's speeches in the locker room earlier. Nando is trying his very best not to think about how much he’s going to miss the seniors, and that if they don’t get into the playoffs, this is the third to last time he’ll ever play with them.

Agh! No. He’s not thinking about that. He’s ready to kick this game’s ass.

He does all his pregame rituals. Including breakfast, and his pregame playlist, and patting his cross on its chain way under his shirt and pads and jersey right before he gets on the ice. When he steps out to the warmup music and feels the cool wind on his face, he gets an adrenaline rush so good somehow he _knows_ they’re going to win.

He’s going to do everything he can to ensure that.

They’re lining up for the pregame ceremonial stuff when the magic happens. He’s scanning the stands, just completely out of habit, and his eyes land on a familiar figure in his usual spot. Quinn is in his peacoat and the blue and white striped scarf he knit himself for school spirit, and he is seriously the cutest thing Nando has _ever_ seen in his life.

He wants to wink at him, but he’s way too far away from Quinn’s seat; a wink wouldn’t be visible. He also doesn’t want to get chewed out by either of the coaches (or, worse, by a captain) for being distracted on the ice. In his defense, the only one who’s ever called him out for being soft about his boyfriend at hockey games is… Ben. And Ben doesn’t count, because Ben chirps him about literally everything.

He’ll give Quinn a big kiss in the lobby after. It’s added motivation.

It’s a fast-moving game, and they score first; Remy puts one between the other team’s goalie’s legs early on in the first, and that sets the tone for the rest of it. They finish off the first period up three goals, and even though the other team gets back at them early in the second, they don’t let up the lead.

Nando isn’t the kind of player who scores a lot. He got his first college goal back in November, at the first game Quinn came to, and since then has considered Quinn something of a good luck charm. They don’t win _every_ game Quinn comes to, but Nando still likes to think of him as lucky.

Which is why, when he sees a clear path off a pass from his d-partner in the middle of the second period, he fires for the net like his life depends on it.

It goes in over the goalie’s shoulder. “ _Oh—_ ” he yells, and then, in sweet harmony with the goal horn, adds, “ _all fucking RIGHT_!”

He laughs out loud into the hug his partner barrels him with from the side, and while the goal song plays and the crowd goes crazy, Remy joins their huddle. Ben is doing some kind of dance inside the net, and the guys on the bench are losing their minds. Nando laughs into the rafters of the rink, towards last year’s championship banner. He wonders if he’ll ever get to raise one here.

He hopes he will.

“That is what I’m _fucking_ talking about,” Remy is saying, in the celly huddle.

“Here we _gooooo_ , boys!” Winner yells, among other vigorous shouting and cursing. It’s a big jumble of his friends, his teammates, and he is having _so much_ fun right now.

They break away from their group, with the goal music still blaring, to go skate by the bench for fist-bumps. The goal has put them up four to one. And as if that isn’t good enough all on its own, Nando catches sight, at that exact moment, of Quinn way out there in the stands. He’s on his feet, doing the cute little celly of his own that Nando has witnessed the few times he’s scored this season. Nando knows he’s looking at him, but he’s way too far away for lip-reading distance.

Fuck it. He’s so happy right now. “I love you,” he calls, and he points his way as he skates toward the bench. Quinn laughs when he sees he’s being pointed to, and he waves, then flashes a thumbs-up.

Nando knows his confession has been lost in the roar of the crowd, but he means it all the same.

*

_iii._

_march 22nd, 2019_

Nando has been crying like a child for the past twenty minutes.

And it is seriously _not_ his fault. In fact, he personally blames the drama club for the entire experience. He at least finds consolation in the fact that he is definitely _not_ the only person in the auditorium who’s crying right now. For a little while now, he’s been able to hear the isolated sniffles across the huge, dark room, between whatever is happening onstage.

And the worst part is that this isn’t even the _first_ time he’s cried tonight! He cried at the end of act one, because he _really_ thought he was going to be able to hold off right until Quinn walked up into that spotlight and started singing about, like, how you’re not alone and everything will be alright— and then he cried. He cried through that whole last song, and then he got his shit together during intermission, and he was like, okay, well, I must be done crying now, right? The second act won’t be _that_ bad.

 _HA_.

Quinn _warned_ him, too. So many times, leading up to tonight, Quinn gave him these little words of caution, like, _Sebastián, honey, I would come prepared on opening night, because the show gets rather emotional towards the end_ . And Nando was like _PFFF, I’ll be fine, baby! I’m a hockey player. I’m a tough guy. I don’t cry over musicals._

Okay, like. That’s not what he actually said, but it was the general sentiment he gave off. He was genuinely sure that it couldn’t get to him. Sure, he’s cried over movies, but a play? He figured he’d be okay. It couldn’t be _that_ emotional.

Joke’s on him.

He held up through most of the second act. He got through Quinn’s huge argument with Cole onstage, who, by the way, is really just a figment of his character’s imagination, and he even got through the song where _Quinn_ was crying, because he had to explain to onstage-Cole’s family that he’d been lying to them the whole time about, well, everything since the third song— but Nando was _fine_ , right up until the song with Quinn and his mom. Well, not his actual mom. His onstage mom. Allison, he thinks her name is. Or at least that’s the name of the girl _playing_ his mom.

It took him out, and he’s down for the count. He wishes he brought tissues to this gut-wrenching experience.

And yet. He is crying. But he is _so fucking proud of his boyfriend_.

It’s just this gigantic jumble of emotion, and now, sitting in his little cushioned chair, he’s wiping at his eyes for the millionth time, finding consolation in the fact that the people all around him are going through it just as much as he is.

He thinks this is the last scene. Quinn and Claire— or, okay, their characters— are having a heartfelt conversation in an apple orchard. When Claire walks offstage, she leaves Quinn by himself, in the bluish lighting, with a bunch of fake trees lined up behind him.

Quinn steps forward, and takes a deep breath. His body language is a lot less uptight than it was at the start of the show, and he lingers at the front of the stage. Nando is totally about to fucking cry again, isn’t he? Quinn didn’t even _do_ anything this time. He’s just standing there.

Well, until he actually starts speaking again. “Dear Evan Hansen,” he says. He’s writing another letter to himself. “Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why.”

Okay. Yep. Here we go. Nando is going to cry again.

It’s a quiet little finale— that’s what the end of the show is called, right? A finale?— and then Quinn sings, just once more, by himself. It’s the most beautiful sound Nando thinks he’s ever heard.

After that, the stage is black for a minute, and Nando, along with the rest of the auditorium, is clapping so hard his hands hurt, and _God_ , he had no doubt in his mind that this was going to be a good show, but he had _no_ idea it’d be like _this_ . He has never been, in the course of two hours, taken on such an emotional rollercoaster before. And it was all at the hands of _Quinn_ , who, like— God, he knew he was talented; he knew he was amazing, but to see him in action is something very different than just witnessing the periphery of all his hard work on this for the past few months. This is the culmination of everything Quinn has been doing, and it’s just— God, he loves him. He loves him, and he’s so, _so_ proud of him.

They come out to bow when the lights come back up. Nando notices that Quinn is missing— they go in reverse order of how big their role was, it looks like, so he waits. He lets off a big cheer for Quinn’s friend Maggie, plus another for Cole. They did a great job— they _all_ did a great job.

But when there’s this little pause, and then Quinn runs out onstage, _that’s_ the kicker.

He shouts into the roar of the crowd, not so much any coherent speech but more just a happy noise, and when he sees a few other people standing up to applaud, he follows suit. All at once, he’s choked up again, and this time there really _is_ no cause, except the sight of his boyfriend onstage, bowing with this beautiful, gracious smile on his face, and the way the entire crowd is on their feet— for _him_. For all of them, Nando knows, because as a cast, they’re a team— but for a show that was led by Quinn. As a freshman.

He worked _so hard_ on this. He deserves every second of applause.

Nando wipes his eyes, for what must be the millionth time, and shouts, into the noise, “ _I love you, Quinn Cooper_!”

It gets lost in the way a standing ovation sounds, but he sends the words up to him anyway. It feels so, so good to say it out loud. And though Quinn will never hear him tonight, he knows there will come a day when he’ll say it directly to him, and it’ll feel so, _so_ good when he does.

Quinn’s cheeks, onstage, are flushed, and he’s beaming as he straightens up from his bow. He’s been Evan Hansen for two hours, or however long Nando has been sitting in his chair, but _this_ , he knows, this smile and red face and gentle nod to the crowd— this is just him. This is his Quinn, taking a bow, being so gracious about their love for all his hard work.

They all point to the pit below the stage and then out toward— well, actually, Nando isn’t sure. The lighting person? Somebody in the back of the auditorium. People are still applauding, so he’s pretty sure this is meant to acknowledge the people who worked on the show who aren’t the actual actors. After that, Quinn leads the whole cast in their last bow before the lights go dark again, and that’s it— the show is over. Standing in the auditorium as the main lights go back on overhead, Nando wipes his eyes. He’s never been prouder in his whole entire life.

He is going to give him the _biggest_ kiss as soon as he comes out the stage door.

*

_iv._

_march 31st, 2019_

He never really thought their first time would happen in the morning.

They didn’t plan it out this way. They’ve been working their way up to this, definitely, but there wasn’t any set agreement, any pre-determination that it was going to happen _today_. It sort of just… well, it just happens like that. Like life sometimes does.

Because when Nando wakes up in Quinn’s bed, Quinn is kissing his neck— so gently, but still doing it, slow and sweet with soft lips on his skin. He’s not entirely sure if it’s meant to wake him, but as he comes to, he registers his touch elsewhere— dressed in nothing but his briefs, Quinn is sprawled on top of him, with one hand at his shoulder and the other draped across his bare chest.

His mouth is warm on his neck, and he nibbles just a little, and Nando, in a sleepy haze, is vaguely aware of the fact that Quinn is working on a hickey he started on sometime late last night.

Last night— _jeez_ , Nando wonders how late they’ve slept. They got to sleep well past three in the morning, after Quinn’s cast party and all its attached shenanigans— Nando was actually in his room long before he returned, just dozing and waiting on him. When he got in, Quinn was just a little tipsy— a sight so adorable Nando nearly died— and his eager kisses tasted like cast party cake and pink champagne.

Now they’re here. He wonders if Quinn is hungover. He wasn’t _nearly_ inebriated last night, just a little under the influence, so he doesn’t think he will be.

He’s definitely awake, though. Nando knows that much. His leg is wrapped around his waist, and Nando is caught completely unprepared when Quinn’s thumb grazes across his nipple. _Good_ morning.

His body is wide awake, in multiple places.

He hums a little, and holds onto Quinn’s narrow waist with one arm. This is cause for Quinn to realize he’s up, apparently, because he shifts a little and then lifts his head.

And… _God_. Nando needs to breathe. Quinn has a pink imprint of a pillow crease on his cheek. His eyes are sea-green in the morning light, and he’s still wearing the remnants of his stage makeup, but his hair is a bed-headed disaster. There’s a little irritated spot on his forehead from the tape for his microphone, and for some reason there’s still a little piece of said tape on the back of his neck, which is for some reason endearing. He is simultaneously the hottest and most adorable thing Nando has ever laid eyes on.

He pulls him way close to his chest, so he’ll feel it when he tells him, “Morning, baby.”

Quinn gives him this big, rosy-cheeked smile, and inches up to give him an actual kiss. Nando kisses back, sliding his free hand down to his thigh and then cupping his ass, which— _wow_. Quinn is wearing these snug little blue briefs, which, like, it’s what he always wears, but obviously he wants Nando to die. Quinn’s lips curve against his mouth, like he’s smiling, and Nando revels in the satisfaction.

Quinn… has assets.

When he pulls off of him, Quinn sits up entirely, and rolls to the side, which is disappointing because it means he has to unhook himself from around Nando. He debates whining about it, but Quinn can’t hear him anyway. Until he reaches onto his little nightstand, and is back as soon as he went, pressing his hearing aids into either ear.

Nando props himself on his elbow and admires the view. With the sheet thrown off him, Quinn is lean, and pale, and _God_ , he’s so fucking sexy.

Nando needs to chill.

“There we go,” Quinn says, at full volume, once he’s put the second one into his ear and switched them on. To Nando’s delight, he rolls back over, wraps his leg and arm back around him, and kisses him like he’s saying hello. He moves in an agile way, for someone who just finished his second weekend of intense performing.

Which… wow. The show is over. Nando squeezes him around the waist, and as they pull away from the kiss, whispers, “I’m so fucking proud of you, baby.”

Quinn giggles a little, this bubbly sound. “Thank you,” he says. “For— everything, Sebastián.”

Nando tugs him a little closer. “Hm?”

“I mean…” Quinn brushes at his curls, with his smile still lingering. “Through this whole process, you’ve been… beyond lovely. Absolutely perfect, and so supportive. I can’t even begin to thank you enough for it.”

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” he tells him, rubbing up and down the small of his back. He can cover it entirely with one palm. He’s not sure he’ll ever be over how small Quinn is. “I’ll always support you.”

Quinn looks a little more serious now, like this conversation holds a lot of weight for him. He touches the tip of his nose to Nando’s and says, “You are the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.”

Nando kisses him, because _God_ , is he fucking lucky. “Right back at’cha, baby.”

Quinn laughs, and then their kissing grows a little deeper, like it’s a continuation of last night— but more sober this time, and less sleepy. Nando wonders, absently, if Quinn feels more dead than he seems to be. Like, he’s had a _busy_ two weekends. He feels like he would be pretty exhausted, if it were him. “How tired are you?” he asks, so close to him that their lips brush as he speaks.

Quinn hums a little. “I’m tired,” he says, after he seems to be considering for a minute. Then he kisses him again, tasting more like morning breath than last night’s champagne, and adds, “Not too tired for this, though.”

“Oh,” Nando chuckles. He likes the sound of that. “Huh. I see.”

Quinn shifts a little, and moves to straddle his hips. Nando props himself up a little and helps him move, which is all good until Quinn is settling into his lap. Because on his way there, he brushes his thigh against him through his boxers, and Nando lets out a mostly involuntary groan at the friction.

“Oh.” Quinn giggles again, like he’s somewhere between pleased and amused by this discovery. “Hello there.”

Nando flashes an apologetic smile, to pretend he isn’t about to die. “Sorry, baby.”

He shakes his head a little, with this shy little smile, and then settles into his lap and rolls his hips, and— _oh_. There he is. Nando becomes a hundred times more aware of his own arousal. He guesses they both have the same morning situation, right now.

“Hi,” he whispers, as Quinn’s cheeks flush pink.

“Hi.” This version of Quinn— flustered, eager, a little sheepish— is one he’s seen a healthy handful of times, so far. He’s maybe biased, but it’s one of the best sides of him. Quinn is looking at him through eyelashes that still bear lingering mascara; his eyes are wide. “Is this okay?”

“Of course it is,” he replies, holding him carefully by the waist. “Are _you_ okay?”

Quinn nods. “I’m very okay,” he says, and Nando grins, and then all they do is make out like that, for a little while.

It’s slow, and sweet, and so good, and, like, yeah, Nando is super turned-on, but if this is all Quinn is up for, right now, he’s okay with handling that issue on his own after. All he wants is whatever Quinn does, and this— just holding him in his lap, making out— this is more than fine by him.

But after a few minutes, Quinn starts moving a little— rocking his hips against his, and _that’s_ , well, it’s a little more difficult for Nando to hold back a groan. Quinn is— he’s right there, and Nando has touched him before, but it’s everything he can do not to want more right now.

Quinn licks into his mouth, right as he’s rolling below, and that does it— Nando groans. Quinn pulls away, a little breathlessly, and presses his face into his shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispers, which is the very last thing he should be saying, honestly.

“Don’t be, baby.” Nando presses his fingers very gingerly into the back of his thigh. Quinn is still just catching his breath, and Nando tips his head against his to ask, “Is this okay still?”

Quinn nods. He looks up again, lips swollen and eyes so bright, and pulls back just enough to look down at him.

Nando recognizes this look in his eyes. The first time he saw it, on Quinn, it was hard to believe it was for him. But now, as Quinn gazes down at him, running a hand across his belly, all Nando can think to be is soft. There’s adoration in Quinn’s eyes. He’s not sure he’ll ever get _used_ to it, to how happy it makes him, but by now he’s learned to accept rather than question it.

“You,” Quinn mumbles, suddenly, now grazing both hands up and down his sides, “are so beautiful, Sebastián.”

Nando wants to give him everything.

Also, _God_ , he loves him. When Quinn looks up to meet his eyes again, he has to replace the _I love you_ on his lips with a kiss. Quinn thrusts toward him again, and he— _wow_. He’s just— this is so fucking perfect.

And he is _so_ turned on right now.

“Quinn?” he asks, picking out his words very carefully. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Of course.” They’re nose-to-nose. Nando takes a deep breath. It’s only a question, and it can’t hurt to ask.

He knows they both want it, and maybe this morning is the time for it.

“Do you…” He squeezes him at his hip. “Do you want to have sex?”

It sounds like Quinn’s breath catches a little in his throat, which is a _very_ good noise. His cheeks flush further, and he whispers, “Oh… Sebastián.”

Nando thinks, for one terrifying moment, that he’s pushed too far too soon, and that he’s killed the moment because of it. But then this bashful little smile curls on Quinn’s lips, and _fuck_ , Nando is going to die.

“Is that…” He pauses, before he can be too eager, too pushy, too much. “Is that, like, an _oh, Sebastián_ or an _oh… Sebastián…_ , or—”

Quinn laughs. He takes his face in both hands and presses forward to kiss him. “It’s a yes, silly,” he says, and now Nando is _definitely_ going to die.

“Okay,” he replies, with his nose still on his, and he knows he sounds too eager, but _God_ , on second thought, is it even possible to be ‘too’ eager to have sex for the first time with your gorgeous boyfriend who you love so much? “I— me, too,” he adds, uselessly, like that wasn’t implied on several counts.

Quinn laughs again. He nods, and then sobers a little, still holding Nando’s face in his hands. “Um.” He takes a deep breath. “I have stuff.”

“You do,” Nando breathes, and it somehow just turns him on even more that of _course_ Quinn is prepared. This boy.

“The health center,” Quinn says, with that sheepish blush still lingering on his cheeks. “I… wanted to be ready?”

“Baby,” Nando laughs. He kisses him, hooking his thumb in the waistband of his briefs. “I—” He stops himself. He can’t say it yet. “You’re perfect,” he amends, which is just as true.

Quinn kisses him once more, then runs a hand down to his shoulder and squeezes his bicep. They hold eye contact for a moment, Quinn still perching in his lap, and Nando’s heart is pounding out of his chest but not at all in a bad way. He’s— _God_ , he’s so ready for this.

“I’m a little nervous,” Quinn says, as he fidgets in his lap just slightly, which is too adorable for words. “Not— not because of you,” he adds, quickly. “But just because I’ve never—”

“Hey— I’m nervous, too,” he confesses, and he knows he’s interrupting him, but Quinn doesn’t have to explain his inexperience to him. Because Nando understands. He’s barely experienced himself, and he doesn’t even want to count his ‘experience’ as that, because it isn’t meaningful to him now. “But being nervous isn’t a bad thing.”

Quinn nods. “I know,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “I— I’m ready, though. If you are.”

“I am,” Nando murmurs, because _God_ , is he ever. “Don’t worry at all, baby,” he tells him, wrapping his arms snug around him for a good squeeze. He kisses his nose. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Quinn’s smile is blushing and beautiful, and Nando is absolutely, positively, without a doubt, going to die.

They go slowly, and when they come together, it’s everything he’s dreamed of and more. So badly, the entire time, he wants to let an _I love you_ slip, but he doesn’t. He changes those urges to other phrases— _you’re perfect, baby_ , and _just like that_ , and _God, you’re gorgeous_ , and everything in between. They take their sweet time, and Nando is pretty sure this is exactly what heaven is supposed to feel like.

When they finish, nearly simultaneously, Quinn is pressed beneath him, with his legs around his waist, shaking a little with his aftershocks. Nando has been propped over him, face-to-face, but now he presses forward to just hold him for a second. He’s still inside him, and with their bodies together like this, they share a long, deep breath.

“ _Goodness_ , Sebastián,” Quinn says, and it comes out on an exhale. His voice is unsteady, but in the very best way.

Nando presses his lips to the top of his head, kissing him there, and mouths _I love you_ into his hair where Quinn can’t see. On the high of this perfect morning, there’s nothing else he can think. He loves him. He loves _making_ love to him. It was everything he wanted.

Their first time— it’s a morning he will never forget.

*

_v._

_april 12th, 2019_

Nando is pleased to discover that the sun does, in fact, eventually come out after a New England winter.

Like, it takes its sweet time. But it gets there. And he, for one, is a fan of it when it comes. The first day that the temperature rises above sixty Fahrenheit, he says a prayer of thanksgiving and steps out in his shorts and sandals. Life is good.

So good, in fact, that after classes are over for the day, Ben volunteers one of the best ideas he’s had in awhile. “Dude,” he says, in their room, swinging his guitar case over his shoulder. “Let’s kidnap Rem and go put a blanket down by the orchard pond.”

“What,” Nando replies, “like a picnic?”

“Yeah!” Ben puts a pair of sunglasses on top of his head, like it’s for safekeeping, and then flexes. He’s wearing a tank top. “Sun’s out, guns out, baby. Let’s go enjoy it.”

Nando laughs. “Okay,” he says. “But only if we can get food first to bring out there.”

Ben scoffs. “ _Obviously_ , dude. What’s a picnic without food?”

It doesn’t take much to find Remy; he’s in his room, reading something. “ _Bro_!” Ben yells, once he’s answered the door. “C’mon, we’re going outside. Take your nerd shit with you.”

Remy holds the book to his chest, sort of defensively, and says, “It’s Lord of the Rings.”

“Nerd shit,” Ben repeats, then beckons for him. “Seriously. We’re not leaving until you come with us.”

Remy rolls his eyes, as he’s slipping on his sneakers. “You didn’t have to convince me,” he says. “It’s nice out anyway.”

They walk down the hall three across; Nando has grown so accustomed to the formation this school year. He’s going to miss his friends so much over the summer. “Where’s your roomie?” Ben is asking Remy, who looks like he’s trying to read and walk at the same time.

But for this comment, Remy raises his eyes from his gigantic book and rolls them to high heaven. “Somewhere not caring about you,” Remy tells him, and then he sticks his tongue out at him for good measure.

“Oh, Rem,” Ben sighs, putting a hand over his own heart as they walk. “One day he’ll understand how much of a catch I am.”

“ _Crisse_ ,” Remy mutters. “God help us all.”

Nando laughs. He can’t help it.

Outside, it seems like a lot of the general campus population have gotten the same idea that Ben did, because there are people everywhere, on every quad. Nando spots a few familiar faces among the conglomerate, all students glad to be done with weekly obligations and out to enjoy a nice Friday afternoon. They get to-go sandwiches for lunch at the dining hall, then head out toward the quad by the pond.

Some kids are tossing a frisbee there, and Ben, who is apparently the head of this operation, walks them that way, past the actual frisbee-tossers and toward the water. It’s bright blue, reflecting the cloudless sky.

When he finds a spot he apparently likes, Ben tosses down the blanket, spreading it on the grass. It’s a Providence Bruins blanket, and it’s lived on his bed all year long in the dorm. “Hey, Nanny,” he calls, as he’s lounging on it and opening his guitar case. “Where’s Quinn?”

“Oh— he’s in class.” Nando looks over his shoulder, instinctively, toward the sciences building. “Actually, he’s in lab. But he’ll be done soon.”

“I’m texting him,” Ben announces, pausing his guitar adventure to dig into his shorts for his phone. “Telling him to join the party.”

Nando laughs. “Okay.”

Remy plops himself down between the two of them, opening his book again. “What’s with the guitar?” he asks Ben, with an arched eyebrow.

“It’s for vibes,” Ben replies, pulling said guitar all the way out of its case and slinging its strap over his shoulder. “And if you _don’t_ vibe with my vibes, feel free to kindly fuck off.”

“Whatever.” Remy directs his gaze back to his book, sitting criss-cross with it in his lap. “Just don’t sing loud and annoy other people.”

Ben gets this wild grin on his face, and in that moment, Nando knows Remy has just damned himself to a serenade. Settling his guitar down onto his hip, he strums out the opening chords of what Nando recognizes immediately as Wonderwall.

Remy definitely knows this song, but he stays straight-faced with his eyes on his page right up until Ben busts out with “ _Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you_ …”

Nando snorts. Remy lets off a long sigh. “I need therapy,” he whispers, and Ben, who is gazing adoringly at him like an idiot, keeps singing. “ _By now, you shoulda somehow realized what you gotta do_ …”

Remy puts his hand on his forehead, and then, in a shocking twist of events, _joins_ him. “ _I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now_ …”

Things go on like this, the three of them clustered on that P-Bruins blanket, for quite some time. Nando eats his sandwich while they sing Wonderwall, and by the time he’s all done with the other random food he bought at the dining hall (a bag of chips, an apple, a chocolate chip cookie), they’ve moved onto Champagne Supernova and also Hey There Delilah. Except Ben is swapping the lyrics, so he’s singing, _hey there, Remy, what’s it like in Quebec City…_

And he’s on the second chorus of his very creatively lyric-swapped rendition of that when he seems to catch sight of something beyond Nando and Remy, and stops playing to wave for just a second before he gets back to his strumming. Nando glances over his shoulder, and there’s a sight to be beholden coming down the hill toward their blanket station.

In an uncharacteristic lack of formality, Quinn is carrying his backpack over one shoulder. He’s in white pants, cuffed at his ankles, and a striped button-up with short sleeves that’s tucked loosely into their high waist. On his feet are his tan Oxfords. He’s wearing vintage sunglasses, and his hair is swept to the side, and… _jeez._ Nando is so, so gay.

“Hey, baby,” he calls, and he knows he’s smiling like a dweeb, and does not care at all.

“Hi, my dear.” Quinn drops his bag next to him as he approaches, and sits at his side on the blanket. Nando presses a kiss to his temple, tossing his arm around his shoulders. The thing is that his arm is a lot longer than Quinn’s frame, so he hangs his hand down on the other side of his neck.

“Yooo,” Ben says, actually pausing his musical noodling now. He flashes Quinn a hand signal, with his thumb, pinky, and pointer finger up. “Rock on, Quinnifer.”

“Hi, Ben,” Quinn says. “You just confessed your love for me in sign language, actually.” He holds up his hand and mirrors what Ben just did. “This is I love you,” he explains, then pulls his thumb in and adds, “ _This_ is rock on.”

Ben flashes a wild grin, kicking his legs out on the blanket. At some point over the past few minutes, he’s taken his shoes off. “How do you know I wasn’t trying to confess my love for you?”

Quinn rolls his eyes and exhales, then reclines back into Nando.

“How was lab?” he asks him, gracing his hand gently on his shoulder.

Quinn smiles. “It was alright,” he replies. “Though it wasn’t so much fun being cooped up in the building when I could see it was so beautiful out here.”

Nando grins back at him, kissing him near his ear again. “Well, you’re out here now.”

“That’s true,” Quinn hums, and then he reclines on his shoulder.

It’s a perfect afternoon, just sitting outside with Quinn and his best friends. He almost forgot how much he missed the good weather; he thinks he’s barely even seen sunshine since he was home for winter break, let alone felt genuinely warm air.

None of them has anything to do for the rest of the day— which feels unheard of, but with the musical _and_ hockey over now, the rest of April is full of free time none of them have known in forever. They’re having a party at Beech Street tonight, according to the team group chat, and he figures they’ll all probably wind up going. He can’t remember the last time a free Friday night existed on his calendar.

It’s a nice feeling, but a little bittersweet, because it means the school year is winding down. Freshman year is coming to a close.

He’s not so keen on it already being over.

The interaction between Quinn and Ben on the blanket sort of escapes his mind right after it happens, but comes back to him at random, an hour or two later, when they’re picking up their picnic stuff and Ben is putting his guitar away.

Nando stands, and immediately regrets that decision, because apparently he’s been sitting in the same position too long, and he gets a major head rush as soon as he’s on his feet. “Whoa!” he laughs, as he steadies himself. “I almost just fell over.”

Quinn, who is still sitting on the ground, has concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

He nods, with a grin, and extends his hand down to him. “Yeah, I’m fine now,” he replies. Quinn takes his hand and stands, and he squeezes it when he has him on his feet.

Quinn squeezes back. Then he points upward. Nando grins wider; he knows what this means. _Up_ is one of the handful of things he’s learned how to sign ever since they’ve started dating. He ducks over a little, and Quinn— backpack and all— jumps up onto his back. He wraps his hands under his legs, and Quinn hooks his arms around his neck, and off they go.

“Thank you,” Quinn hums, in a little sing-song voice, and Nando would honestly do anything to make him happy.

And then, as they walk along, he realizes he knows a _new_ sign, now. Because of Ben and Quinn on the blanket an hour ago. _This is I love you_ , he remembers Quinn saying. _This is rock on._

He deliberates for just a second, then lets go of Quinn’s left knee, which causes Quinn to yelp and wind his legs all the way around his middle. “Sebastián!”

Nando smiles over his shoulder at him. “Sorry, baby,” he replies, and then holds his hand up to sign _I love you_.

Quinn sobers, quite a bit, at this gesture, and looks between his hand and his face for a second with wide, blue eyes. It almost seems like he’s confused, for a second. He blinks once, and then smiles just a little, and takes one hand away from his death grip to sign it back.

Nando’s chest flutters. Did they just say it? Should he say it out loud, now? Will _Quinn_ say it out loud right now? They pause for a moment, eyes still locked, and Nando— he, _God_ , he wants to kiss him.

“Hey,” he hears Ben say to Remy, which cuts through everything racing in his mind. “We should race them.”

“You’re carrying a guitar,” Remy replies, in a deadpan, and then adds, “And I’m not that much smaller than you.”

“It’s smaller enough.” Ben drops his guitar, bends over, and yells, “Giddyup!”

And Quinn laughs, which is how Nando knows that the moment has been tabled— but _gosh_ , maybe that was really stupid. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Will they talk about it later? Will they _not_ talk about it? He hopes he didn’t just pressure Quinn into signing that back at him because there was nothing else for him to do. He hopes Quinn isn’t uncomfortable. He hopes—

He hopes he can calm down, and enjoy the rest of this afternoon, with his friends, and with the boy he’s fallen so hopelessly in love with.

He supports both of Quinn’s legs again, and then turns to find Ben and Remy, uh… struggling to initiate a piggybacking kind of situation. “You’re not big enough!” Remy is yelling, as Ben threatens to collapse under his weight.

“Aaaa _aaaaAAAAAHHH_ ,” he yells, clenching his teeth, like he’s the Hulk and about to smash something. “I will prevail! _Quick_! Let’s race to the top of the hill!”

“Oh, you’re _on_ , Rho,” Nando replies, then looks to Quinn. “You ready?”

Quinn anchors his arms, snug around his neck, and kisses his cheek. “Ready,” he replies.

“ _For Wonderwall_!” Ben yells.

“We’re gonna fall,” Remy cries.

Battle cries mix with shouts of terror, and in their teams of two, they scramble up the hill toward the late-afternoon sun.

He and Quinn win, of course.

*

_+i._

_april 19th, 2019_

The bad news is that they don’t really address the whole signed love confession thing. At least. Not out loud. Not right away.

The _good_ news is that something starts to happen. Quinn starts to sign _I love you_ at him, at random little times. Like when they’re parting after hanging out, over his shoulder, with a soft smile and a wave. Or between kisses when Nando has him curled up in his room, like maybe he’s not even sure Nando can see his hand, but he signs it all the same. Or like a hello, when Nando scoops him up into his arms at the end of a long day.

He returns it each time. How can he not? Nando is pretty sure this counts as having said their first _I love you_. But, for his own non-sign-fluent sake, he would also really like to have a conversation out loud about it.

He isn’t freaking out or anything. He just. _God_. He loves him, and he wants to start saying it, and he knows he can’t be too much but he’s starting to wonder how long he can hold off before he ends up just being the first one to vocalize it. To his face, at a close distance, not in a hockey rink or into a crowd at the musical or when Quinn isn’t listening.

The next Friday, a week after the first signing incident, he gets lunch with Quinn after his lab. They sit at one of the outside tables at the dining hall, and Quinn is polishing off his iced tea as he asks him, “What does the rest of your afternoon look like?”

From now until around four, Nando really doesn’t have that much to do. “Totally free,” he replies, smiling at him across the table. “I think I should start getting ready at, like, four.”

“Perfect.” Quinn nods, then cocks his head a little; the swoopy part of his hair bounces across his forehead. “Can I dress you?”

“Of course you can, baby.” The team banquet for the season is tonight, or— well, this afternoon, he guesses; it's a catered event where you have to dress up. They’re naming a new captain, which is honestly going to be weird, because to name a new captain means Nando has to accept the fact that he won’t be a freshman much longer, and that the seniors are soon to graduate, and that there’s a summer away from college in his very near future.

And don’t get him wrong, he loves being home. He misses Mama and his sisters every day. But he also loves college, just as much. And he especially loves the people who are here. More specifically, a certain person sitting across the table from him.

“I’m thinking your nice maroon tie,” Quinn is saying, and Nando can literally _see_ the gears turning in his head, like he’s given this thought well in advance. “And you’re wearing socks.”

“Nooo!” Nando laughs. “No-sock gang forever.”

“ _Sebastián_ ,” Quinn scolds, and it’s everything Nando can do not to swoon, even when he’s being chastised. “It’s not _proper_.”

“I know, baby.” He puts one shoe up on the table. He actually _is_ wearing socks right now, despite his general opposition to them; it’s only because he’s wearing his sneakers. “Look! I’m being proper right now.”

“There is _nothing_ proper about putting your foot on the table,” Quinn says, swatting at him across the table. Nando laughs as he removes it, then leans forward in his seat. Quinn is staring him down, and if looks could kill— well, if looks could kill, Nando would have been dead months ago, actually. But anyway. The point is, Quinn is shooting daggers at him. It’s the world’s most adorable death glare. “You’re wearing socks tonight,” Quinn says.

He blows him a kiss. “We’ll see about that, baby.”

Quinn lets off a long sigh, and runs one hand through his hair. He even closes his eyes, like he needs a moment of peace. Nando can’t stop grinning. He loves his boyfriend.

He’s deliberating signing _I love you_ , when Quinn opens his eyes again, but Quinn’s faux-irritation has passed, and he’s back to looking soft, and Nando thinks he’s sort of missed the chirp-y window of opportunity. “Well, I’ll help you get ready,” he says. “Later.”

“Later,” he echoes. He rests his head in one hand, nudging his foot lightly under the table. “Thanks, baby.”

Quinn nods, and Nando’s mind wanders. For now, the afternoon is all his own, and he wants to spend it with him. The end of the semester is coming too close for comfort, and he’s going to miss him _so, so much_ this summer. “You wanna have a date while we wait?” he asks him, with a wink and a smile.

Quinn looks down at their empty lunch plates. “Is this not a date?”

He laughs. “Okay, well,” he replies, “a _continuation_ of this date.”

“Mm.” Quinn smiles, and tips his head to the sky. There’s not a cloud in it, and the spring day is so warm. “Sitting in the sun with you sounds nice.”

“That does sound nice.” Nando is so fucking soft. He starts to get up, to gather their dishware. “Should we move in that direction?”

Quinn stands, with the world’s cutest little grin still lingering on his face. “That sounds perfect.”

They wind up in the grass, in almost the exact same spot they were last Friday with Ben and Remy, except this time, it’s just the two of them. Quinn must see the similarity, because as they’re settling down, he asks, “Where are Ben and Remy?”

“Remy has a term paper due at midnight,” he replies, sitting down in the grass next to him. Remy has been complaining about said term paper all week. It’s for, like, Early Middle Ages or something, and has to be ten pages. (Nando is so glad he’s not a history major.) “And, uh… I think Rho might be with, like, one of his music people.”

“Ah.” Quinn nods, then, as he’s setting his backpack down behind him to lean on, he nudges Nando’s bicep and adds, “Oh, by the way! Do you know what?”

Nando is sort of tempted to lay down in the grass. And honestly, why not. What’s stopping him? “What’s up, baby?” he asks, as he reclines.

Quinn leans back, too, and Nando lands with his head in his lap, smiling up at him and the sun. “I think,” Quinn tells him, “that Ben and Cole are friends now.”

“Oh— your Cole?” Nando asks, which is stupid, because Quinn’s theatre friend is the only Cole he knows. And he already knew this information, at least vaguely. “Yeah, I think I heard Rho talking about doing guitar stuff with him the other day.” He pauses. “Maybe that’s who he’s with now, actually. I dunno.”

“Maybe so,” Quinn says, then he chuckles a little. “Look at us. Bridging the extracurricular gap.”

He holds his hand up, fingers spread for Quinn to take. “That’s our power, baby.”

Quinn grabs his hand, squeezes tight, and then plants a kiss on the back of his palm. “That it is.”

Nando smiles and sits up just a little, enough so Quinn can plant one on him properly. It’s a quick kiss, but a sweet one all the same. He has to bite back the _love you, baby_ that he wants to punctuate it with _so_ bad.

Wait for Quinn, he reminds himself. He’s waiting for him.

He settles back down, resting his head in the warm cushion of his lap and snuggling in. There are few better places to lay than on your boyfriend’s thighs when he’s wearing high-waisted shorts.

Quinn threads his fingers in his hair, and, with his free hand, pulls out his phone. “Do you mind if I play music?”

“Go ahead, baby.” Quinn’s music taste is interesting, and consists mostly of showtunes and Carly Rae Jepsen— who, by the way, Nando had no idea (until he and Quinn started dating) even had any songs besides Call Me Maybe. With Quinn, he learned quickly that that is not, in fact, the case. ( _Carly Rae Jepsen?_ he asked, at brunch on their third date, when they got to talking about music taste. _Isn’t she, like, a one-hit wonder?_

Quinn had swatted him in the arm. _Sebastián! Of course she isn’t._

Nando was falling, even then.)

Now, Quinn shuffles his music, or maybe puts on a playlist, and lands on something by his queen herself. Nando doesn’t know the name of the song, but Quinn starts humming along right away. Nando closes his eyes, lets the sun warm him, and relaxes. This is the best way to spend an afternoon.

In the end, it catches him completely by surprise.

He’s laying there, and has been for awhile— not quite fully awake but definitely not sleeping either, just the most chill he thinks it’s possible for a person to be. The day is just the right balance of warm and breezy, and Quinn is still sort of half-humming, half-singing along to his music. They’re onto something from a musical now— he thinks it’s _High School Musical 2_ , actually, and is sort of proud of himself for knowing.

He opens his eyes to look up at Quinn, and what a sight he is. The spring sunshine is highlighting his strawberry hair, like some kind of halo, and he’s bopping a little in rhythm with the music, and he’s just— the best thing Nando has ever seen. He thinks he could just stay here, forever— he’s never wanted so badly to capture a moment and never let it go. This is what he wants to hold onto, in the summer months stretched ahead of him, when he’s missing Quinn and wishing they were together. This afternoon, this view of him in the sun.

It’s perfect in every way.

Quinn looks down at him. He flashes a grin, and Quinn returns it, this soft, lopsided little smile. His hand is still in his hair, and he brushes a few curls away from his forehead. He takes a long breath, with that smile lingering, before he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful.”

This used to be a weird thing to hear, when Quinn first started saying it to him. It was hard, back then, to believe him. But today, right now, Nando thinks he might be starting to believe it. Because if he’s beautiful in Quinn’s eyes, then that will always be enough for him. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. It never will.

He’s enough for Quinn, and that’s all he needs.

Then Quinn breathes in again, and says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “I love you.”

Nando’s brain stops.

He stares up at him. _I love you._ It echoes in his ears, like the best song he’s ever heard, and he’s frozen for what must be a second or two, while he blinks and processes what he said. _I love you_.

He sits up— or jerks up, really, with butterflies looping in his stomach. “You— you do?” he asks.

“Of course I do,” Quinn says, like it’s as obvious as the fact that the sky is blue, but a million times more important. “How could I not love you?”

Nando’s stomach flutters again. He sits up further. “Quinn.” He feels the steady smile of a lovestruck idiot growing on his face, so wide his cheeks hurt. His heart is pounding in his ears. “You’re serious?”

“ _Sebastián_ ,” Quinn laughs, sliding his hand down to cup his cheek. “Yes. I’m very serious. I love you.”

Nando laughs, fully, loudly, and presses forward to kiss him. Quinn’s lips curve into a smile on his mouth. He’s floating on air, and Quinn’s _I love you_ rings sweet and sure in his ears, and as he’s holding him close pressed up to him it occurs to him that he hasn’t done something very, very important in return.

He pulls away and looks straight into those beautiful blue-green eyes. “I love you, Quinn,” he tells him, and in the smile Quinn gives him in return, every ounce of holding it back and second-guessing himself and worrying about everything rolls off his shoulders.

This was worth the wait.

Quinn kisses his cheeks, one at a time, and hums, “I love you a lot, sweetheart.”

God. _God_. Nando has been gone on him since the day they met, but this is just— this is the best day they’ve had yet.

Then something that’s caused him confusion all week strikes his memory, and he blurts, “But what about the signing?”

“The signing?” Quinn squints a little, and then Nando sees realization dawn on his face. “ _Ohhh_. Oh— goodness, Sebastián. I think I just realized something.”

Nando rests his hands on his waist. “What did you realize?”

“You’ve been trying to say ‘I love you’,” Quinn hums, holding up the sign they’ve been exchanging at random times. “In ASL. Haven’t you?”

“Is that…” Nando pauses. “Have I been saying the wrong thing?”

A gentle smile crosses Quinn’s face, and he tips his head sideways for a second before responding, “Not _exactly_. You’ve been saying ‘I love you’, in the sense of the actual words. But…” He takes his hands off of him for a moment, and Nando knows he’s about to get some kind of a lesson. “This?” Quinn says, holding up the sign again with his right hand. “This is a rather casual way to say it, like the way you’d say you love your friends.”

“ _Oh_.” Nando is a fucking idiot who cannot do his basic research on his boyfriend’s first language, and he craves the sweet release of death. “Baby, I’m—”

“This is the romantic ‘I love you’,” Quinn adds, and then he does some kind of Wonder Woman X across his chest, before pointing to him, with a little smile. “I can see now why you were a bit confused.”

“I’m so sorry,” Nando says. _God_ , he can’t believe he didn’t just _look it up_. “I didn’t mean to— I thought—”

“Honey.” Quinn’s touch returns, and he traces along his cheek with his thumb. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “It’s an easy thing for a non-signer to confuse. A lot of languages have multiple ways of saying it.”

Yeah, Nando realizes. They do. And _he_ should have known that, because stupid English isn’t even _his_ first language. “I’ve been signing _yo te quiero_ to you all week,” he groans, tipping his forehead against his. “I’m an _idiot_.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Quinn laughs. “Did you notice I was doing it back?”

“Uh…” He nods. This was the cause of at least some of the confusion, actually. “Yeah?”

“I was doing that,” Quinn says, “because I was pretty sure I understood what you were trying to say.”

“Wait.” Nando frees his hands, which means he has to stop holding him for a second, but he’ll get back to it ASAP, so it’s okay. “Teach me how to say it the right way.”

Quinn beams. He crosses his arms over his chest again. “Like this,” he says, and Nando mirrors him. “Nice and tight,” he adds, and then points to him. “And that’s the ‘you’.”

Nando points back. Quinn laughs, just lightly, and nods at him. “Exactly like that.”

“Thank you,” he says, as he wraps him back up. “I— I’m sorry it took me this long to learn.”

“Oh, honey,” Quinn murmurs. His cheeks are flushed bright pink, and his soft smile remains. “Please. I promise, you have no reason to be sorry.” He kisses his nose, and Nando loves him so much he’s going to maybe combust. “Don’t worry,” Quinn tells him. He’s so fucking _perfect_ , Nando thinks, as he stares at him. “I….” Quinn pauses. “I think the way we worked up to this was perfect for us.”

“I agree,” Nando says, with a nod he knows is way too enthusiastic, and then adds, because it’s true, “I’ve been holding that in for, like. Weeks. Months.”

Quinn laughs, presses his forehead to his, and asks, “Why did you wait?”

“I dunno.” He pauses. “I… didn’t wanna, like. Freak you out?” He cringes at himself. God, that sounds so stupid.

Lucky for him, Quinn doesn’t mind. He’s never minded. “Sebastián,” he says, evenly. “I knew I was going to love you when I met you.”

 _God_ , Nando is so fucking _happy_. “Me, too, baby,” he whispers, and then— he can’t help it— he kisses him again. Quinn laughs into his mouth, and he holds him so close, and they sit there, in the grass under the sun.

“I love you,” Nando says, finally, _finally_. And something tells him that now that he’s said it once, he’s going to keep saying it— time and time again.

Forever, he thinks. He could do this forever.

And though Nando doesn’t know it quite yet, forever he will.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey, [come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Thank you very much for reading. <3


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